Little Prince
by Msynergy
Summary: A prince, his grandfather, and a certain baby blanket. Spoilers for Season 2.


_Little Prince_

Disclaimer: I wish, but no, I don't know the characters/show.

Author's Note: I've seen this one idea floating around of Henry sleeping with Emma's baby blanket and couldn't help myself. This is my whack at it. Enjoy.

He'd meant what he said; he couldn't find the rest of their family without Henry's help. The kid was resourceful and determined, much like a certain raven-haired beauty he knew, and had proven to him that even if he forbade it, Henry would still find a way to help.

If you can't beat them, ally with them, James smirks, watching his grandson fight sleep on the couch over his famous book.

It was easy to forget that the kid was just that, a kid. A boy wise beyond his years but a boy all the same. And when James looks back on the two sets of childhood memories he's retained he hadn't been helping break curses at the ripe age of ten. Much less curses that had been cast by evil queens who'd adopted him, that much was certain.

But as his head bobs for a third time, Charming finally has seen enough. Even brave princes need sleep.

"Okay, bed time."

"I'm awake! I'm not tired!" Henry instantly straightens, eyes blinking quickly.

"Right, and Grumpy's actually always in a good mood. C'mon," he insists, walking over and reaching out to grab and close Henry's book.

His grandson's first response is to sigh, but he ultimately trudges up the stairs towards his bed. Watching him go James does his best not to acknowledge that Henry's bed was once Emma's. That she'd been living here, right under his nose, under all their noses for nearly a year.

It's one of his many regrets that he hadn't been able to connect with Emma as David the way Snow had as Mary Margaret. But with the way he'd broken his own wife's heart he can't help but also be proud of Emma for sticking by her mother, even if Snow had only been her friend and roommate at the time. He remembers seeing the way Emma would look after Mary, the aloof woman would downright light up in her presence. He can only hope he gets the same chance to be there for them both when they get back.

But in the meantime he has Henry and a town to look after and one of them has yet to come down to brush their teeth.

"Henry?" he calls, getting no answer, and in a moment he's taken the stairs two at a time, sword in hand.

Call him overprotective, but after everything that's happened he won't risk his grandson.

The foe he finds at the top of the stairs, however, is not any he expects. It appears by the way Henry has landed on the bed, that he'd been in the middle of taking off his shoes when even that had taken too much effort. Morpheus' power was mighty indeed.

Leaning his sword against a chair, he does his best to ignore the red jacket that had been tossed carelessly upon it by his daughter.

If he focuses on it for too long it will be all he can think about, about how she had his eyes and Snow's chin, and whether she ever admits it or not a strength that only a princess could possess.

It's a strength he wishes for now as he sees to her little prince, trying to be a grandfather when he'd missed being a father as he takes Henry's last shoe off and helps him into bed, jeans and all. He doesn't bother waking him, as he's found in recent days that trying to do so was harder than slaying a dragon.

Henry had eagerly told him with a grin that he'd inherited this trait from Emma; something he'd realized when he'd sneaked out to visit on a Saturday morning and Mary Margaret had tried waking Emma up.

"I don't think I ever heard Grandma swear until then," he'd smiled mischievously in the retelling, and even James had had to laugh. It was a little known fact that when extremely cross his Snow could string together curses like Granny could string a crossbow. It'd been nice to hear that some things never change, cursed or not.

Bringing the comforter up to wrap tightly around Henry, and moving to leave him be, however, he sees him stir, his hand leaving the blankets to reach for something across the bed.

And that's when he spots it, peeking out from the other pillow, that white blanket with the purple ribbon. Emma must have kept it, even after all this time. But the shock and sudden warmth that bursts from his heart is quickly tempered as he considers the questions its appearance raises.

Questions like how had he not spotted it before? He tucked Henry in every night and not once had he seen that telltale purple. It could only mean that Henry had been keeping it from him, hiding it. But why?

While he ponders, however, Henry's hand finally finds what it seeks, and quickly pulls the blanket in with him under the covers, his nose burrowing into its white depths as he inhales deeply.

And Charming receives his answer. For her entire life Emma had held on to this keepsake, her essence had to be embedded in its very fibers, and what brought more comfort to a hurting child than his mother's scent?

As to why Henry had kept it from him, well, he can only assume that he'd wanted to keep up a brave front for his grandfather, to live up to the heritage he read and reread in that book.

"Oh kid," he sighs, "you are the bravest prince I know."

And before the tears that have been stinging at his eyes can escape, he presses a kiss to Henry's head and turns to retrieve his sword.

But as he does, he stops, struck by the tableau of that sword and jacket resting together on the same chair.

They shouldn't fit, such very different things from very different worlds. But they do, compliment each other even, equally strong but even better together.

He's never been one for believing in signs, but gods does he want to believe in this one. And belief is one thing they have plenty of, Henry especially. He will just have to follow his brave grandson's lead.

With that thought he takes up the blade and heads down the stairs for his own bed, never seeing Henry's eyes follow him down.

He'd woken to James' words, and at first he'd wanted to freeze, hating the thought of what he must look like cuddling with Emma's blanket. But then the words had sunk in, and he'd felt his grandfather kiss him goodnight, and what he's feeling ranks pretty high on his awesome-meter, probably just below Emma telling him she loves him.

He also had taken in the picture James' sword and Emma's jacket painted, and he can only think that it means good things will happen soon. He had that same feeling looking at it as he did when the clock first started working again, and that can only be a great sign.

This in mind he unashamedly tightens his grip on his mother's blanket, and with another deep breath closes his eyes. If he focuses hard enough he can almost hear Emma telling him to "Go to sleep, kid," her arms strong and comforting around him.


End file.
